Category Archives: Love and Marriage

Small and Simple (not to mention Beautiful too)

Three nights ago Jacob was up every hour from 1 a.m. to 5 a.m.  He had a bad bout of diarrhea, thus causing some very painful diaper rash.  He’d wake up just howling, poor kid, and needless to say we didn’t get much sleep.  2 nights ago we thoughts things were going great until Elizabeth ran into our room at 2:30 a.m. crying that she needed a bowl and proceeded to throw-up on the floor beside the bed.  We had a short discussion about the toilet bowl being the best bowl there is, found a portable bowl, cleaned everything up and were back to bed by 3:15 or so.  She threw up four more times before 6:00 a.m.

To say that I was exhausted yesterday would be an understatement – not to mention I felt like every muscle in my body had been plowed into the ground.  Funny thing that, it was! 🙂  Then, add to that a very bad case of nausea and upset stomach.  I was not in for a very good day.

It actually wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good either – how can it be when a body is feeling miserable and trying to care for 4 children.  I can’t stand being sick and not getting anything done.  I always feel like I let my family down.  Not that any of them would think that in a million years, it’s just how I feel.

My HHH (handsome huggable hubby) came home to a disastrous mess, no dishes had been caught up, no dinner was made, and I was huddled under blankets wishing the world would disappear.  Worst thing to me was that he wasn’t feeling that great either.

He didn’t make any snide remarks like I suspect some husbands might do coming home to disaster, instead he changed Jacob’s diaper, started the dishwasher, and made dinner – all quite cheerfully.  It made me feel like a million dollars – such an awesome husband I have.

Then, in the evening, he took Elizabeth to meet with the bishop about her upcoming baptism. After wards he swung by the store to pick up some chicken and rice soup for me, since nothing else sounded like it would settle too well.  Elizabeth found me first, and with a big grin from ear to ear handed me a beautiful bouquet of lillies.  I wanted to cry they were so wonderful.  She and my darling HHH had picked out some flowers to make “mommy feel better”.  I love lillies at Easter, and these thrilled me to no end.  It really did make me feel better, and they smell divine.

I have no doubt that it is the little things we do that mean the most to people.  Things that we think don’t do much become miracles in their lives.  I had a friend who had been out on a hot summer day painting her house – no doubt she was exhausted and tired.  Another friend passed by and saw her out working away.  A few minutes later she was back again with a tall pitcher of lemonade. Something so small, but I know it had a huge impact on the friend, if nothing else than to say, “I love and care about you.”  It also gets me to wondering if I do enough of the little things for my family, friends and other people. Dropping a simple note, a bag of chocolates, a flower off to their doorstep, or being aware of simple needs.  Too many times I ask, “Is there anything I can do for you?” instead of being aware enough to simply do something – needed or not.  I for one seldom say yes when I am asked that question even if there is whole list of things I would love to have help with.  So, those flowers last night got me thinking, and instead of asking and thinking, I need to start doing.

Thanks HHH, they are beautiful and dear to me.  🙂

Lillies from Hubby 1

Lillies from Huby 2


Filed under health, Lizy, Love and Marriage, Parenting


It all started that fateful day I drove my truck into the driveway that wasn’t there and my friends had to tow me out. Since then life just hasn’t been the same. I had been doing so well not being terribly goofy, but boy have I had a total reversal since then. After those crazy holiday events I though, maybe,just maybe, I could continue on with life in a somewhat normal state. Hah!

I was sooooo excited to go walking on Tuesday. I hadn’t been able to walk for two weeks and I was chomping at the bit to get out the door. I finally managed to haul all the kids out the door and we sauntered our way over to the school, but once they were out of site, I popped in my headphones and took off. I felt so good, I was just burnin’ up that pavement, oh yeah.

I made it about half a mile and was nearing a stop sign. I had walked over this ground a million times, what made today any different? Well, that day I managed to find the one uneven spot and my ankle just folds over to the side and sends me flying with all the grace in the world. It wasn’t even the ankle I twisted a week or so ago, nope, it had to be the other one. I resulted in bruising the side of my foot becuase of how I landed on it. Thankfully, the cart(stroller, whatever) prevented me from going all the way down, I just sort of lunged and began hopping across the grass, and the car at the stop sign just sat as though watching me do some crazy sort of dance. But now, I was at least a quarter mile or more from home (becauseof the loop I go on I was closer to home than what I had walked) with a hurting ankle. So, slow and steady wins the race and I managed to hobble my way home again.

Then, later that evening, as I try to cross the fence, my foot catches and I go smashing into the huge bin of legos, whacking my cut off toe, hard, on the top of the fence. I managed to catch my arms on the counter though, and sort of hung there, before struggling back to my feet. Paul heard the crash and came running.

“Is everything ok? Sounded like someone could hav gotten hurt out here.”

“Nope. Just me,” I replied rather nonchalantly, with a I don’t know what your talking about air.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he replid.

I don’t know, that last sentance says a whole lot….



Filed under Every Day Life, Goofs, Humor, Love and Marriage

Of Hooks and Whos for the Holidays

Sometime in the 80’s:

I would consider my Father to be on the serious side, though with a surprising sense of humor. Surprising because most people don’t see it until after they have known him for a while. He is a college professor, and continues to educate himself on many things and has become well versed in history and many other things. I have very seldom seen him without a book in hand. He was always fun loving with us, wrestling, tickling, making up corny limericks, and oh the faces he could pull!

We gathered around the freshly cut tree as Dad strung the lights and Mom gave direction and how they should go. Christmas music played festively in the background and the house was full of squeals, giggles, and laughter. The boxes of ornaments were brought out with care and Dad unwrapped each ornament from is protective paper towel, yellowed with age. Shouts and cheers were given as though old friends were being met after a long absence and one by one we took turns hanging on them on the tree. Eventually we came, as always is the case, to some forlorn ornaments that had no hooks. We all started looking around for the box of hooks, knowing that we would be in desperate need for it. Finally, in a last ditch frustrated attempt, my father calls out, “Mother, where are all the hookers?”

We stood in a shocked silence with mouths gaping open.

“The what?” Mother asked somewhat confused.

“The hooks, the hooks. I mean the hooks,” he hastily replied as a chorus of 5 unruly giggles echoed through the room and my mother broke down in laughter. Dad finally gave in and joined us knowing the damage was already done.

From that historical day on we have always had to search for those hookers to hang the ornaments, much to Father’s chagrin.

December 1998:

It was my first Christmas as married woman to my very charming hubby, Paul. I was just barely starting to get beautifully round with our first child. I was taking Paul home for his first Christmas at my home and my first Christmas home in two years. We had decided, however, to decorate our apartment and get a tree since it was our first time to celebrate in our little apartment. The empty tree stood in the corner and I directed Paul as he strung the festive lights. Then came the ornaments. There were few, but were tenderly and lovingly wrapped in paper towels. As I pulled the first one out, I realized that there were no hooks. I knew Paul had bought some, and I could not find them anywhere, so finally I looked up at him and asked, “Dear, where did you put the hookers?”

“The what?” Paul gave me an incredulous look as what I had said sunk in. Here was his newlywed wife asking him about hookers. She must have gone completely off her rocker.

“Oh dear,” I said laughing. “The hooks, I really meant the hooks,” I fumbled my cheeks flaming as I explained the hilarious moment years and years ago and how it has stuck around ever since. Oh what a hearty laugh he gave, and that year when we were home for Christmas, he was sure to bring it up as we helped decorate Mom’s tree as a good son-in-law should. 🙂

December 2006:

I managed this year to refrain from any mention of hookers while decorating the tree, well, at least while the children were present anyway. 🙂 The house was decorated and Dorothy had brought “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” home from the school library. It didn’t take much to cajole Papa into sitting down to read the story. He was a vision with three little girls sitting upon his lap and Jacob climbing on his legs. I listened from a nearby chair as he did all the voices and read in his great booming Grinch voice, “And all the hoes in Whoville….”

“All the what?” I cried trying to hold back fits of laughter.

“All the….” and Paul dissolved into laughed realizing his Freudian slip. I teased a long time into the night about that one and it hasn’t died off yet. Poor Paul, he is such a good sport to let me give him such a bad time, of course I know that he would do the same for me if the tables were reversed. 🙂

Our poor children have absolutely no chance. They are warped for life.


Filed under Family, Goofs, Humor, Love and Marriage, Parenting

The Bearded Lady

I stepped out of the shower this morning and began to towell off. “Eek!” I cried as I looked down, “I have a hairy chest!” Then as my horror mounted I realized I had sprouted a beard as well! With abhorrence I cast the offender away and plunged back into the shower. After I was dehaired and dressed I went in search of my husband.

“Darling,” I asked in a venom sweet voice, “did you by chance use my towell last night when cutting your hair?”

Paul looked at me shocked as I explained my unexpected hairy chest and beard. “I used the green towell!” He said. (Mine was purple)

“Umm, my hair is not short and black, dear.”

“Oh, no! I did use it when my hair was too wet and not cutting well.”

“Uhuh,” I said, “now I know what the bearded lady felt like.”

Ladies, beware of hubbies who cut their own hair.


Filed under Goofs, Humor, Love and Marriage


Work parties always make me nervous. Mingling with people I don’t know and trying not to look too much like a fool in front of Paul’s bosses. Nightmares of people scoffing at the frumpy housewife plague me, not that I picture myself that way or that I would ever choose in a million years to do something different with my life, I just fear the criticism and belittling of something I love so much.

Last night I drove to Paul’s work and picked him up to drive into Portland to his work party at the Greek Cusina. After the first of the awkwardness began to wear off I actually truly enjoyed myself. I love eating food from different cultures, and Greek food is something I have never had the pleasure of enjoying. I don’t remember the names of half the stuff I ate, but it was all incredibly delicious. The highlight of the evening came after dinner.

The owner, a Greek, addressed all of us and welcomed him to his restaurant. He proceeded to ask, “Now, what does Xenium mean? Because Xenos in Greek mean . . . ” and he proceeded in a thick accent to dissect the word for us. I nearly fell of my chair chuckling to myself as I had major flashbacks to one of my favorite movies, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”. At least he didn’t pull out the Windex. 🙂 However, after he had finished his dissections of Xenium, he called forth the men and taught them the steps to a classic Greek circle dance. It was a hoot watching Paul and all the others tear up the floor as they gradually went faster and faster around the dance floor. Then the owner stepped into the middle and did a fiery solo dance and proceeded to invite each guy into the middle of the circle to perform a solo. At the finish of each solo the owner poured a drink into their mouth. It was quite a riot, and fun to watch, though we are not drinkers of alcohol in any form or fashion, so Paul ducked out of that one. 🙂 When everyone (except my hubby) had done their solo dance and drink plates were handed all around and they were educated in the tradition of Greek plate smashing. With a resounding “OPA!” and crash plates smashed into the center of the circle.

Then it was our turn. The women came forward and we were taught a little circle dance, though quite different in style. When I dance with my husband, right and left isn’t a problem for me, but when I am in a circle dance or line dance, I can’t tell which is which. I was constantly messing up and when I actually got it right the girl beside me would get it mixed up. It didn’t help that my darling hubby was teasing me from the sidelines, “No! No! The other left!” Finally the owner, seeing that we were a hopeless cause had the girl teaching us stay in the center of the circle and he came and stood right in front of us. It was rather hilarious, and for the most part we actually got it. The coolest part of the dance was the foot stamping and the guys all clapping in the background. We then did a round of solo dances where the men joined in and we danced down the middle of two parallel lines of people. Then plates were passed out to all of the girls.

“OPA!” SMASH! There is something strangely exhilarating about throwing a plate and seeing it smash into a kazillion pieces. 🙂

The dance floor then opened up to dancing in general and Paul and I had some fun dancing about the floor before we had to go home. All in all, it was very enjoyable and not as uncomfortable as I had feared. We even one two free tickets to regal cinemas! 🙂 Woohoo! 🙂 Or should I say “OPA!!!”


Filed under Every Day Life, Love and Marriage

Random Monday

I wasn’t around much on Friday, and I have a bit to talk about. 🙂

Elizabeth has been my super awesome helper. She has finally reached the stage where she can do dishes easily, both unloading and loading the dishwasher, she can make school lunches, and a number of other things. The other day I asked everyone to pick up the family room. “Mom, can I do the dishes instead? Because I don’t want to clean.” Please, no one spill the beans about the fact that doing the dishes IS cleaning. 🙂 I want to enjoy it for as long as it may last. 🙂


I went on a retreat this weekend. Just me. No kids. We were at a house on the beach owned by one of the ladies in our ward (congregation) and we had a nice relaxing women’s retreat. It was heavenly. No schedule, no obligations. I walked on the beach and kicked my feet through the water. I went shopping. I climbed up the cape head and enjoyed an absolutely gorgeous view of the sunset. And I talked all I want to intelligible adults, with out saying the words “potty” and “diaper” and “poopie” once! Are you jealous? 🙂 (And I didn’t even embarass or hurt myself, what is this world coming to?)


I finally got our pictures developed, so for those of you wanting to take a gander they are posted on flickr. (If you can’t see them, let me know. I will invite you and make you a friend so you can). I will go back and add pictures to the Lion Heart Festival post, and the Toddler Days post. I am so slow with getting my film developed, I really wish I had a digital camera sometimes. 🙂


Something that made my retreat even more of a reatreat: I came home to a clean house! My hubby is soooo awesome. 🙂 He and the kids cleaned the kitchen and organized and cleaned a whole bunch of stuff. It was so nice to come home to a happy cleaned home. I am so blessed to have such a thoughtful, incredible husband.

That is all for now, the family is breaking down my door 🙂 So I will leave it at that, and write about some things (like the glorious retreat) in more detail at a later time. 🙂


Filed under Children, Every Day Life, Family, Lizy, Love and Marriage, Parenting

Re-Evaluation . . . Hmmmm . . . .

I think I need to stop blogging. Yup. I think it is a great hazard to my health. Why just this week alone I was thinking to myself, “Self nothing much has happened lately to blog about that would be really funny, adventurous, or exciting.” And then what do you suppose would happen? I take a flying leap over a fence, and not a graceful one mind you. At least afterwards I thought, “Well, self there you have it, a truly entertaining story to tell.”

I was fine with that really. I fun story to tell, but truly that is enough. Maybe it was revenge for laughing at that dog, or maybe, just maybe, I am truly the klutz I have always known myself to be. Yup, friends, goofy has struck again. She has not left the building, but is simply lurking in the dark shadows of the laundry room. Well, actually she made it out of the laundry room, within an inch of her life I might add, and is sitting (well perching would be more correct as the sitting aparatus is not too functional at the moment) at her computer. What happened? you might ask. Well, I shall tell you. . . .

Today was wash all the bed linnens and kid’s blankets laundry day. I started early and was just finishing off the last of the loads just in time for bed. We got the kids all snuggled in to their dryer sheet fresh beds and I went to fetch our linens so the bed would be ready for us when we chose to stagger into bed at some insane hour of the night. I was trying to be a sweet helpful wife as my husband hurled pillow after pillow at me, and tickled me insanely. He ran out of pillows and began to pick up the garbage bags of goodwill clothes and began to hurl those at me, complete with bombing sound effects. It was quite hillarious until I lost my ballance, (which, trust me, isn’t hard to do when being hit by a 2 ton garbage sack, heh) crashed into the stool behind me and fell on my right knee (which you remember had been previously damaged earlier this week), but hey it was only one knee, and not both. After feigning death and other such ailments to spark that grain of guilt in my hubby, I hopped up and finished making the bed. When I handed the pillows (ok, so I threw them at him, heh) to my HHH I noticed that I was short a pillowcase.

So I ventured out into the deep dark menacing recesses of the laundery room. The laundery room is located on the far side of the garage and trust me when I say there is an honest to goodness obstacle course which one must pass through in order to get there. Climbing over, darting around, ducking under, you name it, you have to do it to manuever through this place. I executed the course with ease and upon searching the confines of the room I found no missing pillow slip. I grabbed the empty hamper and headed inside.

Ahh, that I could say I handled the course with ease. Honestly I don’t know how it happened, they do say that after traumatic experiences one can suffer some memory loss . . . but what I believe happened is this:

While stepping over a small box, I was stepping around a large box, while my foot in front, as it was coming down, was trying to miss the medium box and the hamper was whacking the leg in back trying desperately to upset my delicate position. Well, it succeeded, and for the second time in one week I found myself hurling through the air with the greatest of ease and comeing down, crashing to my knees! Well, my left knee anyway. Which looks very pretty, swollen, purple, you get the idea. And I don’t quite know how I managed it but as I fell I somehow turned and bashed the back upper part of my thigh against a food storage bucket (which is the reason I am perching rather than sitting). It blossomed into the most interesting array of colors I have yet to personally witness on a human body. I let out a resounding yell which brought my HHH running, much to my changrin, who couldn’t figure out quite what to do other than laugh. But that was ok, because I was laughing trying to figure out whether to crawl, which hurt my knee terribly, or to walk, which hurt my thigh. Oh, and to add insult to injury what do you suppose I would find on my staggering return back to the bedroom? That’s right, the pillow case. And where do you suppose I found said pillow case? Right again! Resting peacefully beneath one of the bags of clothes that my hubby was hurling at me. heh. 🙂 How’s that for poetic justice?

So, you see, blogging is becoming hazardous to my health and if I keep it up much longer I might have plenty to blog about, but nothing to blog with (or sit with anyway, heh) 🙂 Well, my sitting aparatus has just plumb wore out, so I am off to stagger to bed. Night all! 🙂 (at least my bed is all made, yummy smelling, clean and cozy! hee hee)


Filed under Goofs, Humor, Love and Marriage

Love and Marriage

I found this on Sariah in Vancouver’s blog and thought it would be fun, especially since I just celebrated my anniversary with my HHH (Handsome Huggable Hubby).

Love- Tell us about your first love/crush. No, you don’t have to name names, but why that person?

I don’t remember the first person I had a crush on, but I remember the first person who had a crush on me. I was in 3rd grade. He was in 5th grade. Why he ever liked me I shall never know. But he did get a first grader to kiss me on the bus after school. Boy was I ever mad (remember I was a tomboy and boys are gross). If I remember the story correctly I decked the 5th grader and scowled menacingly at the 1st grader.

Though I do remember this kid in highschool that played soccer. I had a crush on him. He had great legs, but it was his eyes and smile that got me. He had one of those slow smiles that started out very thin but then grew and blossomed until it took over his entire face, not a hostile take-over, just peaceful negotiations. And his eyes. He had these steel grey eyes, like a stormy day at the beach. He was a nice guy too, played trumpet in band, and was respectful to others, especially girls and that was a good thing.

and Marriage- Are you married or in a serious relationship? For how long? If not, do you want to get married or be in a serious relationship someday, or are you happy with your single status? Well you all know that I am married and have been for 8 years, and I won’t bore you with the sordid details two times in one week . . .so if you are curious or have forgotten you may want to seek medical attention, an dif that fails read my Love Story post again. heh 🙂Go together like a horse and carriage- What’s the most romantic thing you done, had someone do for you, or seen done?

Well, let me start off by saying that it is not cow tipping! hee hee. Now, having cleared that up, I find a lot of little things romantic. I love it when my HHH dances with me in the kitchen while I am trying to make dinner. Or when we leave each other notes on our little message mirror. Often we sit up late at night sipping on sparkling cider and playing board and card games, laughing with each other. Those silly little traditions that just happen, such as switchbacks. When Paul and I were hiking one day, the trail was steep and windy with constant switchbacks. Everytime we hit a switchback it meant that the person in fron had to switchback and kiss the person behind. We always look forward to those now when we go on hikes. Or gazing out across a sunset on the ocean with our arms wrapped around each other and walks on the beach. *sigh* To me it is all heavenly bliss . . . . mooooo. 🙂


Filed under Love and Marriage, Meme

A Love Story

I noticed him on the first day of my second semester. He was just starting his college experience; I was winding down to the end. There were several new members in our symphonic band, 3 of which were French horn players. There was just something about him that caught my eye. I think it was the goofy grin that never quite left his face.

A few weeks into the semester I landed myself on crutches, don’t ask, it’s too embarrassing to tell. It was January, in Rexburg, Idaho, and I had to try my hand at maintaining my balance on a couple of skinny sticks with hardly any traction. Heh. While I am sure I displayed many comic routines as I skidded, flopped, and flew to class, it was also the blame for why I got to know my future hubby so well.

I swung into the music building and turned the corner to the locker room. I was already running a bit late as I tried to keep balanced and yank my horn out of its tiny little space. I had developed the art of holding onto the handrest of my crutches with my thumb so the rest of my fingers could wrap around the handle of my French horn case. The only problem was that the horn would swing and bash into my crutch threatening to take it out completely. After the weeks I had spent on crutches my senior year in high school (due to the toe vs. lawnmower incident) I had become quite proficient at crutch wielding and I was at least able to maintain a certain aspect of dignity, even if I was lying on the ground, heh. By the time I finally managed to bash my way into the concert hall where we held our daily practice our conductor had started warm-ups and I found myself the humiliated center of attention as I proceeded to make my painful way to my seat, tried to balance as I extricated my horn, and then figure out what to do with my crutches.

After practice was over and I was making my way back to the locker room I felt a strong hand wrap itself around my horn and gently take it from me. Surprised I looked up to see him, with that goofy grin on his face. From that point on, he always carried my horn for me. And, me, being the sweet, genteel, demure, creature that I am followed behind, swinging on my crutches, kicking him (not hard of course) in the rear all the way.

He would also perform this routine for me on Tuesday evenings as I went to horn lessons (we had our lessons within 30 minutes of each other) and our group sectional on the same evening. I soon discovered that he spent quite a lot of time there on Tuesdays and I began to purposely arrive there earlier and earlier hoping to see more of him. The thing I did not discover until quite some time later was that he was doing the same thing.

The weeks passed and I finally ditched the crutches in March, but by now he was in the habit of carrying my French horn and our tradition continued as we talked our way into class. One fateful Tuesday evening our group had gotten to talking and it was entering into the hours of twilight as I headed out of the music building when I heard someone jog up behind me. The goofy grin asked if he could drive me home, after all he hadn’t had a chance to talk to his friend (my roommate) in a while. I accepted and off we went.

All our rooms were upstairs in the apartment and that’s where I had gone to change, while he talked with my five roommates. I didn’t know it, but they were talking about me. He was perusing our kitchen and had asked which was my cupboard. They told him and much to his surprise all he found when he opened it were 3 boxes of “yellow death” (mac and cheese) and 5 potatoes. See, I was a poor starving college student. My parents were very helpful, but I was too proud to try and tell them that the $80 they had sent to get me through the rest of the school year just wasn’t going to cut it, so I was squeaking by on my meager budget. Paul was horrified, but knew that I wouldn’t accept help from him so he devised a sneaky plan. He invited me out to dinner.

But don’t get the wrong idea here, it wasn’t a date. Never a date! He simply stated that he had extra money on his food card that he didn’t want to waste and so we went out to the campus restaurant. Our first such dinner we ate spaghetti and ended up talking for 2 hours. My roommates were anxious and upset that I wasn’t home when I usually was until they found out I was with him. Then the teasing began, but I denied it all quickly, after all he had the same name as my brother and that would just be too weird! 🙂 Well, to make a long story short, he kept feeding me, and my sources tell me he kept checking my cupboard too, and it wasn’t too long before we were dating. I left to serve my mission and we were engaged shortly after I returned home. Eight years ago today we were married in the Portland Oregon Temple. These have been the happiest eight years ever, and I look forward to another happy 80. (ooh, and he still has that goofy grin, which I love so, so, much!) 🙂


Filed under Love and Marriage, Youth


PS Hunt
Grab the Photo Hunt code.
Join the blogroll. Visit participants.

This is the first photo that I have posted that I haven’t taken, but I couldn’t resist. Especially because my husband and I will be celebrating our 8th anniversary this coming week.

Oh, you’ll notice in the far right corner a little boy headed our way. That is my nephew, he decided it would be fun to go wading in the reflection pool. He was finally noticed as he perched upon a step beside us. Luckily we caught him before he got more than his feet wet! 🙂


Filed under Love and Marriage, Photography